Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

J asmine drove a few miles on the interstate, then took another dark exit and pulled the car over. She was trembling, and she needed a bathroom, and she desperately wanted Derrick to take her spot behind the wheel. But she caught his face in the rearview and knew he was in much worse shape than she was. Pale and wincing in pain, there was no way he should be driving.

She stayed where she was. "Move to the passenger seat, please."

He didn't argue, which gave her more confidence that she'd made the right decision. Even though he'd taught her to drive, he teased her about her caution behind the wheel. Once she'd earned her license, he'd taken over the driving whenever they were together.

He settled into the passenger seat without a word.

Little though she wanted to, she trudged into the forest and emptied her bladder. They couldn't risk stopping at a gas station anytime soon, but she couldn't hold out any longer or Rabie wouldn't be the only one who'd soiled his clothes.

A few minutes later, she eased back onto the interstate toward Wheeling. Michael had said to go that direction and continue to Pittsburgh. Fortunately, it was not far, only sixty miles, if the sign was accurate. The display in the dashboard told her they had seventy-five miles remaining before the gas tank would be empty, so she hoped Michael would find a hotel on this side of the city.

She was surprised to find that Pittsburgh was so close. Was it not in another state entirely?

How many states would they drive through today? A tiny, curious part of her wished it were daylight. If Khalid found her and took her back to Iraq, this would be her only opportunity to tour America. She hated that she was only seeing darkness.

In the back, Rabie's arms were crossed. He stared out the window. She didn't miss the glint of tears on his cheeks.

There was nothing she could say to make this better for him. He didn't know his brother like Basma did. He would simply have to trust that Basma knew what was best. If he couldn't be convinced of that, then he'd grow bitter and angry toward her.

Perhaps he would end up like his brother anyway.

And all of this would have been for nothing.

Jasmine should've stayed out of it. She should've stayed in Maine. What foolishness had driven her to this? Love for Basma, yes. But Michael could have helped her friend. And would have, probably, if she'd asked him to. But instead of taking the risk that he might refuse her, she'd not only put herself in danger, but she'd risked her unborn baby's life. And Derrick's life.

She could still feel the warmth of that terrible man's breath on her cheek when he'd spoken to her.

Yasamin.

She hadn't thought about what it meant at the time, only that she couldn't let him take her .

But she had to think about it now. Derrick was right. There had to be a reason Dari would have Jasmine kidnapped.

If he was acquainted with Hasan, then he was likely acquainted with Khalid.

Were they working together? Was he seeking favor? Or did Dari intend to use her as a bargaining chip? A hostage? Did he plan to sell her back to her husband?

No matter how it might have happened, Jasmine would have been returned to Khalid.

Thank You, Most High God, for delivering me. Again. And for keeping us safe. Forgive me for my foolishness. Please, protect us.

She hadn't put an address into the navigation system. She followed signs toward Pittsburgh, glancing at Derrick in the passenger seat.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his hand pressing the sweatshirt against his wound.

Even thinking of it—what had happened, what could have happened—turned her stomach. "Perhaps we should find a pharmacy."

"No." The word was clipped. "Just drive until Michael calls back."

"But it needs to be cleaned."

"I don't want to go to jail tonight."

This she understood. But the wound could get infected, and then they would have to go to the hospital, no? And then, more likely jail.

But she didn't argue, just drove, willing the phone to ring.

They'd driven through the small town of Wheeling and were ten or fifteen miles past it before it finally did.

Derrick barely reacted to the shocking trill in the silent car.

She pressed the phone icon on the steering wheel. "Hello?"

Derrick straightened a little .

"You guys okay?" Michael asked. "No issues? No more lurking SUVs?"

Derrick responded with, "We're fine."

"We are in need of antibiotics and bandages and a safe place to rest. Your brother is pale and sick."

She could practically feel him glaring at her.

Well, it was true, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"I'm looking now," Michael said. "You're driving, sis?"

"We have just passed into Pennsylvania."

"Perfect. We're making calls about the shooting, telling the locals it's a federal matter, that we've got it under control—national security and all that. But it'll take some time, so don't get stopped."

"We won't get stopped for speeding." Derrick attempted to add a little humor to that remark.

"He is teasing about my driving."

"Better too slow than too fast," Michael said. "Bro, can you make it another forty-five minutes? I got you a motel in the city, the kind of place that won't ask a lot of questions."

"I can do it," Derrick said. "You all right to drive that far?"

"Yes," she said. "We must have a pharmacy."

"I found one. I want you to check in, get Derrick and Rabie settled, and then go to the pharmacy alone."

"No." Derrick sat up straighter. "She's not going alone."

"Can you do it, sis?" Apparently, Michael was ignoring Derrick.

So she did the same. "I will, yes."

"I'll text all the information. Let me know as soon as you get there." Michael ended the call.

"You're not going alone." Derrick was practically grumbling beside her.

"This is the first I have seen you injured. Are you grouchy when you're sick, too, or only when you're in pain? "

"I'm not grouchy. I'm trying to keep you alive."

"As I am doing. And to keep you out of jail. This you also want, yes?"

"I'm just saying?—"

"I do not think it has to be one or the other, me or you. Your brother says I will be safe, and I trust him."

She wasn't sure if Derrick agreed or had simply lost his energy, but he didn't argue further. After he put the address to the hotel into the navigation system, he pulled the blanket over himself, tucked the pillow beneath his head, and closed his eyes.

In the back, Rabie wasn't asleep, just staring out at the darkness.

Jasmine turned the music back on—still the same classical station, so it must be satellite radio. She focused on the sounds, trying not to let the memories of all that had happened—and could have happened—distract her.

Right now, all she had to do was reach the motel without incident and get Derrick and Rabie inside. Then she'd go to the pharmacy. Then she'd tend Derrick's wound and soothe Rabie.

What had Derrick said? That she shouldn't borrow trouble? It was like what Jesus said as well, that each day had enough trouble of its own.

This night had been filled with it. And soon the sun would rise on a new day.

Perhaps…perhaps they would find Basma, locate her cousin, and deliver Rabie.

Perhaps before the sun set again, they would go home.

She could only pray that God would make it happen.

Jasmine returned to the motel and parked on the side opposite from their room, as Michael had directed. If the police—or, God forbid, Dari's men—located them here, they might be able to escape out the back and reach the car before they were found.

It seemed farfetched to her, but Michael's ideas were usually good.

She'd figured out how to use the burner phone's map and had added the other phone's number to it, in case she needed to call Derrick. She'd mastered her own phone, but it was powered down and tucked in her suitcase. Not that she'd be missing a lot of calls, but she was certain that at least her sister had tried to reach her.

After her visit to the pharmacy, she understood why Michael hadn't been afraid for her to go by herself. Though she hadn't seen many people while she was out, a number of those she had seen were Middle Eastern, and the clerk had been as well—he'd even spoken Arabic. Nobody had given Jasmine a second glance as she'd bought and paid for the items. She'd gotten the first-aid supplies as well as drinks and snacks. She'd found a deck of Uno cards, a puzzle, and a small backpack for Rabie. Then she'd discovered the store had a small collection of clothes. She'd chosen a package of boy's underwear, a package of socks, two pairs of sweatpants and two sweatshirts. Since he'd soiled one outfit and the other had gone out the window, he'd need something to wear.

Perhaps she could cheer him up a little.

The motel rooms opened to the outside adjacent to the parking lot. The exterior walls were whitish, the paint peeling. Most of the rooms were quiet—it was nearly three o'clock in the morning. Music thumped from one, and she picked up the sounds of men talking and women giggling.

How authentic was the giggling, though? Did those women want to be there? Were they paid to pretend, or forced to?

Slavery looked different here than it had in Iraq, but it existed everywhere. She'd seen the news reports and heard Leila's and Sophie's stories about what happened to many refugees, how their dreams of freedom turned to nightmares.

She hurried past the music, not wanting anything to do with those inside, and reached their room. She slid the keycard into the slot and pushed the door open.

The space was dim, only lit by an overhead light outside the bathroom on the far side. It smelled of dampness and old onions, though it was tidy enough.

Derrick lay on top of the covers on the closer bed. He'd changed into his pajama pants but hadn't peeled off the blood-soaked sweatshirt. The room was chilly, but his face sparkled with a sheen of moisture. He pushed himself up onto his elbow. "Any problems?"

"All is well. Please rest. I'll be right there."

She half expected him to argue, but he fell back against the pillows.

Rabie stepped out of the bathroom, and the scent of shampoo and soap wafted out with him—an improvement. His hair dripped, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.

Her suitcase was open on the floor in front of the closet. She hadn't opened it when she'd rolled it in earlier, and Derrick wouldn't have done that.

"Did you need something?" she asked Rabie.

"I was trying to find something to wear."

"Next time, please don't go through my things without asking." She smiled to soften the reproof, crossing the room toward him. "A shower was a good idea. It will help you relax. I bought you a treat."

She held out the bag that had the things she'd bought for him, and he took it and dug around inside. He pulled out the little cream-filled chocolate cake, his eyes slightly brighter than before.

"You deserve chocolate, no? "

That almost brought a grin. "I think yes." His gaze flicked to Derrick. "Does he get one?"

"I don't think he's up for it, but I bought him one for later." She moved a little closer and lowered her voice. "He risked his life to save you, Rabie. You should be thankful."

"He threw my stuff away."

"Yes." She nodded, keeping her expression solemn. "Are your things more important than his life? His safety?"

Rabie's shoulders lifted and fell.

"You are tired. Please, put on some clothes, eat your cake, and then brush your teeth." She stepped into the steamy bathroom, grabbed a bath towel, and backed out again. "And then we sleep, okay?"

Rabie took the clothes she'd bought into the bathroom and closed the door.

Jasmine moved to the bed opposite Derrick and opened all the packages she'd bought.

His skin was pale as paper, his eyes bloodshot as he watched her warily.

"Take off your sweatshirt, please."

"You're finally coming around to my way of thinking."

She tipped her head to one side. What did he mean?

"Trying to have your way with me?" His lips quirked at the corners. "Very unseemly."

Her cheeks warmed. He was teasing her. She lifted the brown bottle. "This will sting. How much it will sting"—she lifted her eyebrows—"this will depend on you."

He winced. "I take it all back." He pushed himself into a sitting position and worked his shirt up, his face contorting in pain.

She held the sleeve so he could pull his arm free, then tugged it over his head .

"Not that I mind you undressing me," he said, "but this isn't how I imagined this would go."

She would ignore his remarks. Perhaps they were his way of dealing with the pain. And she didn't want to think about Derrick imagining…anything. Because his shirt was off now, and his chest drew her gaze. Smooth except a little hair that crawled up from his pajama pants toward his belly button. She'd known he was strong, but she hadn't imagined such defined muscles.

His body was…perfect.

Jasmine forced her gaze away, turning on the bedside lamps. She spread the bath towel on the bed behind him. "Lie down and face away, please."

He did, lifting his arm over his head so she could access the wound.

His hair fell toward the bed, exposing his neck, his ear. His skin was light compared to hers, stretching tight over muscles that rippled as he held himself steady.

She was thankful he was facing away from her and didn't see her staring. It was all she could do to keep herself from reaching out and running her fingertips between his shoulder blades.

The only man she'd ever seen without his shirt on was her husband—wrinkled and hairy and pudgy. How were Khalid and Derrick even the same species?

Derrick was beautiful inside and out.

"Is it that bad?" His voice was low and rumbling.

"No. It's…" She shook herself and swallowed. The gash was about ten centimeters long and one centimeter wide, running from his front to his back. It was ugly and red and still seeping blood. "You washed it?"

"Yes, Nurse Ratched. I rinsed it, just like you said."

"Who is this Ratched?" Jasmine got the gauze and tape ready, then opened the brown bottle .

"She's from a movie."

"She is a good nurse?"

He chuckled. "She's a nightmare. It was a joke. She's nothing like you."

"Hmm. We will see." She tried a joking tone as well. "Hold still." She tipped the bottle and squeezed liquid over the wound.

He sucked air through his teeth, his muscles tightening.

As if her own body felt the pain, her stomach flopped. "It is to clean," she said. "I am sorry for the pain. Michael said gunshots infect easily."

"Yup." The word was clipped. "It's fine."

She capped the bottle and set it on the table.

Behind her, the bed shifted. Rabie climbing in.

She pressed the gauze to the wound, then taped it snug. "I am finished."

Derrick eased onto his back and sat up. "Let's do that again soon."

"We must clean it at least twice a day."

He groaned. "I was being sarcastic."

Rabie laughed.

Derrick leaned forward. "You think that's funny?" He was smiling.

"I thought you would cry like a girl."

"Only manly crying for me."

"Ha. No such thing."

Jasmine gathered all the first-aid supplies and returned them to the plastic bag. "You two are like little boys. And it is time for all the little boys to go to sleep."

"Aw, do we have to?" The whine came from Derrick, the silly man.

She reached to flick off the light between the beds, but he stopped her with an upraised hand and leaned past her to face Rabie again .

"Hey, son?"

"What?" Rabie sounded annoyed again,

"I had no choice about your backpack, so I'm not going to apologize for that. I am sorry I had to do it, though. And I'm sorry I wasn't more patient. Will you forgive me?"

Rabie's eyes widened, then narrowed as if he were trying to figure Derrick out.

Derrick's expression held nothing but sincere regret.

After a few beats, Rabie nestled under the covers. "I guess." The words were faint, but it was something.

"Thank you, son." Derrick nodded at the lamp, letting out a very loud, very put-upon sigh. "I guess if you say, we gotta go to sleep."

She flicked the light off, then leaned down and kissed Derrick on the forehead like she might a child.

But he wasn't a child, and she should not have done that.

In the glow coming from the bathroom, she watched his eyebrows hike. He caught her hand and held on, gazing at her in that way he had, his expression filled with tenderness. "You were amazing tonight."

"You saved me, Derrick. I owe you everything."

It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but after a moment, he released her hand.

She kissed Rabie good-night and escaped to the bathroom.